Cold Like Fire, Warm Like Ice
by WaveGoodbye
Summary: Beth's first birthday is here and Quinn has some inner demons to face. Rachel is her unexpected confidant. One-shot.


She was oblivious at first.

Her eyes opened to nothing but the familiarity of her darkened bedroom where everything was in its rightful place, untouched. At three forty-five in the morning, Quinn Fabray would rather have been in the midst of a favourable dream instead of looking at her alarm clock with blood-shot eyes.

Then, without a second's warning, they hit her: memories so vivid and so powerful that she could have sworn it had been recorded and put into her DVD player by someone as vicious as she dared to imagine. Quinn recalled the screaming and foul language that came from the demon that had possessed her body, doctors and her mother spurting out phrases of encouragement, Puck's unfortunate expression when he looked to the goal end, and Mercedes' face struck with anxiousness as they all waited for that moment. And then she heard it again; screaming, except this time it was the baby she'd just given birth to.

Quinn remembered the way she felt when her daughter was placed in her arms. She couldn't take her eyes off her, marvelling over every little detail to her perfect little body as Beth looked up to her.

It was Beth's first birthday today, and Quinn hadn't seen her in three-hundred and sixty-four days.

-

"What time is it? Can't be late for class, gotta show those twigs I wasn't joking when I said ribs would be broken if they haven't improved."

Puck smirked, taking in Lauren's full profile. "I'm so turned on. Let's ditch this pit and go back to mine. I've got a box of Cadbury eggs for the afterglow," he made an honest effort to tempt her.

"Tempting, but no can do, Puckerman. I need to pulverise." Her statement was accentuated by digging her fist in to her open palm and twisting it.

Dejected, he glanced to his watch and informed her of the time. His disappointment was forgotten when she kissed his cheek before heading off, then replaced with something else when he remembered the date he'd just seen in the white square box of his watch.

Heaviness swept over his chest, a sensation which doubled when he saw Quinn standing alone down the hallway at her locker. They hadn't spoken about Beth at all. Puck's efforts at making Quinn open up about their daughter had been ineffective during the first few months after her birth, and eventually he'd stopped trying.

He was at her locker now, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. He saw how tired she looked. "You okay?"

With a slow turn of her head, Quinn glared at him.

She didn't want to be reminded of it, much less talk about it. Puck was the last person she wanted to be with.

"Good morning, fellow Glee Clubbers."

The second to last person, she mentally corrected herself upon hearing Rachel Berry's voice. She rewarded her with a scathing glare much like the one she'd given Puck, adding a slam of her locker for good measure.

Puck and Rachel watched her leave without a glance back.

"Good morning, Noah," Rachel said, quieter this time.

"What's up, my number one Jew?"

She followed his slow walk down the hallway, standing close to him. It was witching hour and her tentative friendship with Finn didn't mean anything to anyone when he was in an early-morning study session with Mike. She was open for attack at any moment.

"What's wrong with Quinn? She seems hostile."

"She's always hostile."

"True," she agreed with a lean of her head. "Any particular reason for today's hostility? I only ask because we need to be bursting with morale in three days for the sake of the team. We can't blow Regionals this year. I'll be humiliated." When Puck looked down to her, it dawned. "Oh... last year."

His shoulders hunched. "Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"I didn't really bond with it, or anything... but it still sucks, you know?"

Rachel offered a sympathetic nod. "If you need a distraction, I'm more than happy to put on a show for you and Quinn in my basement this weekend."

Puck smirked. "Would the parentals be okay with that?"

"I-I meant a performance, Noah! I'll sing one uninterrupted hour of gut-wrenching tearjerkers that will inevitably cause Quinn to break down and deal with her demons head-on."

"I don't know... have you seen Quinn angry before?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"There's angry Quinn, right, a regular occurrence, nothing new. Then there's the angry, crying Quinn who kicks you out of the house or the car as soon as she starts to get vulnerable, or whatever. She'll probably trash your house."

"Daddy would be furious."

"I think she wants to deal with it alone, you know?" He looked conflicted. "I tried but there's not a whole lot else I can do."

It was okay, she was good at this; she could find solutions to most problems she was faced with in life. She could be incredibly logical. Rachel was in the middle of thinking up an extra song for an impromptu Glee performance later in the afternoon when she saw Azimio approaching, slushie in hand.

Rachel froze and closed her eyes, wincing without conscious effort.

"You going somewhere?"

"To the zoo if you'll kindly move out my way."

Rachel opened one eye with caution. Puck had stepped in front of her.

"Not today, you're not," Puck replied defensively. "Go back to the locker room and pick your ass. That's about all you know how to do, isn't it? On and off the field."

Azimio laughed it off, looking around to see how big the audience was —it was small, and then leaned forward closer to Rachel. "I'll be seeing you soon."

Safe behind Puck, she frowned at Azimio and the way he left slurping his slushie. If she was prettier, taller with blonde hair, she wouldn't get so many threats. Beautiful people were always treated better.

-

For a nice change of pace, every member of Glee Club cheered and clapped when Rachel finished performing the solo she was singing at Regionals in two days time. Everyone except Quinn, that is. Even the ever-permanent scowl was missing from Lauren's face when Rachel beamed to everyone who was showering her with the attention and praise she needed like oxygen.

Through a sea of bodies coming up to hug her or make her palm sting with high-five's, Rachel saw through it all to Quinn who still hadn't moved from her seat.

She brushed some hair behind her ear. "Quinn? Did you hear?"

"Hard to block out."

"Well, what did you think? Do we have a shot of winning Regionals?"

Finally, Quinn looked at her. "I don't know. It's hard to think without being dizzy from the amount of times you've circled that piano," she replied flatly, unable to reflect properly.

Still slightly out of breath, Rachel looked around to the group. She was confused. "I-I might use it as a prop every now and then, but that's no reason to—"

"Who cares?" Tina supplied. "With a voice like that, plus our group numbers, we're sure to win," she finished enthusiastically with nods from Artie, Mercedes and Mike.

"Or at least place this time," Puck added.

Mr. Schuester couldn't contain his proud smile. "I couldn't agree more, Rachel. You sing like that in front of the judges, and we're in."

"Because the singing was so awful last year," Quinn scoffed under her breath. Rachel's spinning had given her a headache. "We're going to lose. That doesn't mean we suck, it means there are better singers out there."

Rachel looked like she'd been slapped across the face. "You really think that?" she asked quietly.

"I do."

Santana sneered. "Get with it, Debbie Downer. Dwarf's got game with that performance." She returned the brunette's smile.

"And there's going to be someone better than her, better than all of us."

"File down the claws, Quinn," Sam said from beside his ex-girlfriend.

"Nobody is better than me," Rachel insisted in a self-assured, almost smug response.

Quinn's pointed look was worse than anything else she could have said. It was a seed of doubt placed inside Rachel. Her smile faltered. "I know you're hurting, I can't imagine how much, but for the sake of the team I think some optimism would go a long way," she said gently.

It had been a long day for Quinn; one that had involved nothing but spiteful comments to hurt anyone who spoke to her when she made it clear she didn't want to talk about anyone or anything. It wasn't personal until they made it personal. She couldn't deal with anyone.

Quinn's posture stiffened, hazel eyes emitting nothing but disdain for Rachel's audacity to bring that up in front of the club. The uncertainty to Rachel's body language and where to fix her brown stare gave Quinn a strange sense of satisfaction. Rachel was complicated when it came to Quinn's attempts to intimidate her. When she tried to scare her —preferably out of the country— Rachel didn't bite, but with one look she was questioning herself.

When Mr. Schuester jumped in with the time and place to meet for their journey to Regionals, Quinn was all but biting her tongue to not ban Rachel from ever bringing up Beth again. She wanted to scream it at her, and anyone who thought it was okay to do so.

But the problem was that nobody else had. Puck didn't count because he was the father, and as low as her opinion of him could sometimes be, Quinn knew he'd never forget Beth's birthday. As luck would have it, the only person who remembered was Rachel Berry. With Regionals right around the corner, albeit two days later than they'd performed last year, she thought more people would have remembered but they didn't. They'd moved on because life always does.

They'd forgotten Beth.

-

It was no time at all until they were all making their way inside the bus and fighting over the seats and the weird smell coming from one of the back seats.

Despite further attempts from Puck and Rachel, Quinn didn't take them up on their offer to talk, deciding to deal with her issues privately without anyone's help. She'd gone from verbally aggressive to quietly brooding, choosing to be alone to avoid potential incidents. Every time Rachel had seen her she'd been alone.

Surprisingly, Rachel was one of the last ones to board to bus.

She welcomed her teammates with a friendly greeting, her smile wide, and when the bus erupted into loud cheers, Rachel bowed like any star would.

"Hey, Rach!" Finn called from the back of the bus, raising his arm to show her where he was.

It wasn't entirely necessary being that he was the giant of the group.

Rachel smiled at him, lifting her large, heavy backpack over an armrest sticking out, preventing her from getting down the aisle. She was struggling to squeeze past when she spotted Quinn sitting by herself, three rows in front of anyone else with only one other person close by. She was looking out of the window to the parking lot where Mr. Schuester was talking to Artie's parents.

Rachel chewed her lip as she looked to an expectant, hopeful Finn before she squeezed in next to Quinn. She missed the confused furrow of his brows when she chose not to sit next to him for the journey.

"Good morning, Quinn."

Quinn watched Rachel lean over the next seat, dropping her bag down over both seats before she said, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting with you."

"Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "I want to."

"Why?"

"I think its best I save my voice for our performances. If I sit with anyone else, I could run the risk of straining my voice."

"So, you're just going to sit there?" Quinn asked as Rachel pulled on her seatbelt.

"If that's okay with you."

Eventually, Quinn gave a small nod and averted her attention back to Will outside. "All right."

Rachel smiled. "Are you excited? I could barely sleep last night, and when I did I had all these prophetic dreams of a standing ovation and Stephen Schwartz in the audience."

With a lethargic loll of her head against the seat, Quinn raised both eyebrows in a silent question.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "I'm just...I can't wait," Rachel explained with a candid smile. She held Quinn's gaze for a few unnecessary seconds until she said, "I'm going to be quiet now."

True to her word, except for one loud cheer with her teammates when the bus made the first roll toward the road, Rachel didn't feel the need to bombard Quinn with twenty questions or bore her with the goings on of her life. She was simply a companion, there to make sure nobody was sitting alone because she knew how hurtful it was to be the one nobody wanted to sit with.

Thirty minutes in to their bus ride, Rachel unfastened her seatbelt and leaned over the next seat to rummage through her bag, all the while under a certain blonde cheerleader's curious watch. Rachel pulled out a bottle of water and took a long drink from it. She sat back down with a large bag of candy atop a book and her iPod.

She set the candy on her lap while she held out the other two items to Quinn.

After a few deliberating seconds, Quinn accepted the book and was reading the back of it as Rachel was elbow-deep inside her bag of candy searching for a piece she wanted. When she found it, the crinkle of the wrapper was heard through the raucous noise of the bus.

"Hand them over!" Santana ordered without lifting her head from Brittany's shoulder.

Rachel's tongue peaked out of her mouth and she made quick work of putting a handful of the best candies into a pile on her lap before they were seized from her hands. She even shoved a random handful in the space between her and Quinn's thighs.

Sam appeared beside her. "You mind?" he asked politely, holding out his hand.

There was a loud cheer and loud shouts of 'thank you' when Sam left with the bag of candy.

"You're welcome!" she called out. Rachel turned to Quinn. "Lemonhead?"

There was no response, so Rachel withdrew her hand and spent the next ten minutes stifling the urge to belt out the songs playing on her iPod. When she shifted in her seat to get comfortable, she effectively sent several pieces of candy to the floor.

Quinn only became aware of the world outside of her book when Rachel's head was between her knees.

"What are you doing?" Quinn hissed in annoyance.

"This certainly isn't what it looks like," came a muffled response.

Quinn was mortified. She glanced around in paranoia of an audience. "Get up."

When the bus driver applied the brakes sharply, Rachel gripped on to the closest thing to her hand: Quinn's thigh. It gave her sufficient leverage to reach the last piece of candy. When she was upright, Rachel dropped the candy to the pile wrapped up in the material of her sweater.

She was smoothing her hair back out when she felt it. She smiled at the cheerleader looking over to her. "How's your book?"

"Fine."

"That good?"

Quinn sighed. "I thought there was going to be no talking?"

"You were looking at me. It would have been rude to ignore you."

"And you think it's polite to shove your head betw— down there without so much as a warning? You made me lose my place."

Rachel reached over and took hold of the book, one of her hands over Quinn's. "Let me help you find it. I have the natural ability to open a book and find the exact page I left off at."

"I can do it," she insisted in a breathy whisper, irritation etched to her face.

An hour passed where Rachel didn't say a word, content with her playlist and the methodical way she'd open a new candy after every two songs. Engrossed with her favourite musicians, she missed the annoyed sighs each time her fingers would brush against Quinn's thigh in order to blindly search for a new piece of candy.

Eventually they made her hunger for real food.

Rachel sat with a sandwich and a bag of chips, an easy smile on her face as she carefully peeled back the aluminium foil to reveal her snack. She held one half of her diagonally-cut sandwich to her teammate. "Peanut butter and jelly?"

It was accepted and Rachel bit into her half, holding back a moan. It was delicious. Peanut butter and jelly was her favourite since she could remember. She picked up her chips and looked to her left where Brad was sitting alone on the next aisle.

"Brad," she called, "could I interest you with some organic, lightly salted chips?" she asked cheerfully.

Brad smiled, holding a hand up. "No, thank you."

It was all Quinn could do not to choke. She looked to Rachel, bemused. "He never talks."

"What do you mean?" Rachel wiped the corner of her mouth. "Brad is a wonderful conversationalist."

"That's the first time he's ever spoken," Quinn asserted.

"That's not entirely true. We talk, quite often."

"What do you mean you talk?"

"We talk about a lot of things. He gave me a recipe last month for the best chocolate chip cookies I've ever had —vegan, of course."

"So you talk about cookies?"

Rachel smiled patiently. She liked talking to Quinn. "No, the conversation just happened to take a cookie turn. We were talking about me."

Quinn nodded. "Figures."

She went back to her book after that.

/

Without Stephen Schwartz being in the audience, New Directions placed first.

During the second performance Rachel had noticed Quinn's hand on her stomach as if remembering the last time they were all participating in the competition, and made a conscious decision to stray from the choreography keeping her at the other end of the stage while Mercedes and Santana took the lead. Ignoring the subtle questioning in Finn's eyes, Rachel had made her way over to Quinn and taken hold of her hand like she'd promised last year. She held it tightly between both of her own until she and Puck were needed at the front of the stage.

Quinn hadn't flinched or made any attempt to pull away. She even returned a small smile when it had been announced that New Directions had placed first. It had been hard not to; Rachel's face was lit up like a Christmas tree.

/

There had been a similar scene in her basement recently, except this time Rachel wasn't covered from her neck down to her ankles and there was a lack of Blaine for Kurt to gaze at, along with Brittany and Santana making out with each other instead of with Artie and Sam.

She even played them an Indigo Girls song with a heartfelt dedication to their burgeoning relationship but they'd been far too caught up in each other's mouths to notice. That was probably a good thing.

"To the captains!" Mike yelled over the music, a shot in his hand.

Rachel held her red cup of pineapple juice in the air, smiling naively. "Cheers!" She swallowed the last mouthful in one as everyone else downed their Spiced Rum.

The glasses were filled again, and this time Rachel was handed alcohol.

"To all of us!" Finn bellowed.

Quickly, with only one person watching her, Rachel switched her shot with a can of Coca Cola. "Woo!" she cheered, pumping her little fist in the air.

Next it was vodka.

"To everyone but Finn!" Santana announced, feeling a large amount of personal gratification when her toast received the loudest cheer by far. She smiled to let him know she was joking, at least partially.

Just as the can made contact with her lips, Rachel's Coca Cola was replaced with an overflowing shot of clear vodka. She looked at Quinn with uncertainty. "I'm not sure I want to drink tonight, Quinn."

It was pushed further into her face, the rim of the glass pressing against her lips. "This is a celebration. Drink it," Quinn ordered as it was taken out of her hands.

Watching Quinn tip her head back to properly dispose of the alcohol made Rachel bite her lip. She waited until the next excuse for a shot came up, still looking at Quinn. "To you," she said quietly, swallowing it without grimace.

There was a look to her eyes that Rachel couldn't remember seeing before. She wanted to ask her if she was okay but the cheerleader made her way over to Mercedes.

Two more shots followed (Rachel managed to escape them both), and she was distracted by a forceful demand to perform a duet with Santana. She saw Quinn with two separate drinks as she performed with Santana and then Sam. It was cause for concern.

She was momentarily spent, catching the contagious drunken laughter from people who she could currently call her friends. She made her way over to the bar in the corner of the basement, sitting on the stool next to Quinn.

A raised pile of shredded napkins and bottle labels sat in front of her.

Calming down, Rachel could see the extra colour to Quinn's cheeks and leaned closer. "Do you want some water?" she shouted over the music. When a reply didn't come, she touched her hand. "Quinn?"

Quinn pulled away, tightening her jaw at the unwanted contact. When the song changed, her exasperation worsened. She remembered it from the party at Puck's house. She heard it playing before their clothes had been removed.

"Change the song," she muttered, slurring her words.

"What?"

"Tell him to turn it off," Quinn urged desperately.

"The song?"

"Yes!" she replied sharply. She glared over to an oblivious Puck who was dancing behind Lauren. "Puck!"

"It's okay," Rachel soothed. She called out to Artie who was close-by. When he had her attention, she motioned for him to change the song. He graciously wheeled over towards the stereo. "See? It's done, it's okay."

In a burst of rage for Puck's ignorance, overlooking the fact that it was entirely possible he didn't remember the song from that night, Quinn dipped her hand into the ice bucket and flung a piece at him.

Uncoordinated in her inebriated state, it was sheer luck that sent it in the right direction. The luck ended there. As Rachel stood up from her stool, the ice hit Lauren Zizes square in the face.

Rachel gasped, feet glued to the floor. Dread crept up her spine when Lauren searched for the culprit in slow motion. A deer in headlights, she was powerless to do anything but wait for the strike. Their eyes met and Rachel's were wide, terrified of the stunned scowl Lauren wore. Her heart hammered inside her chest. She hadn't even won a Tony Award yet.

Lauren gained on her and she readied her body for the attack, but it didn't come. Her sweater had been millimetres away from the wrestler's fingers when a hand seized her upper arm and pulled her away.

Quinn squared up to Lauren, unafraid.

"Quinn, i-is that you?" Rachel stammered in state of disbelief. She looked to the blonde's empty seat at the bar to confirm. Rachel didn't believe it until she pinched herself.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Santana slurred holding her cup in the air. "Trust me, Q, you don't want to go there. Mama Bear will crush you."

"I think she should try," Quinn taunted.

Lauren leaned in close. "Do _not_ piss me off any more than you already have," she warned threateningly.

Rachel's smile was a quivering one. "Okay, guys, you've had your fun. Come on now, back to the party!"

"I haven't even started, Streisand."

Rachel's back was straighter upon hearing the nickname, perking up. She snapped out of it a second later, looking to Puck for help to deal with his girlfriend. "Noah, perhaps some assistance?"

"I don't know what I can do," he said, heading over anyway. "When my girl's riled, she's riled."

Quinn tightened her jaw. She looked over Lauren's shoulder. "Get away from me, Puck," she spat out. "In fact, anyone with a penis can stay away from me."

"That means you too, Berry."

Rachel rolled her eyes at Santana's unoriginal jibe.

Lauren frowned. "Get over it. He's done nothing wrong."

Quinn arched one eyebrow perfectly. "'Cuse me?"

"The funk you're in! Get over it or stop trying to bring everyone else down. This is a party, not a wake."

Puck was closer now, next to Lauren. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, Finn approached too, as if he had already forgotten his ex-girlfriend's orders to stay away.

Quinn clenched a fist. "I swear to God, Finn..."

"Okay, I've heard enough," Lauren declared, pushing against Quinn's shoulder with the intention of turning her around and forcing her back to the bar—hopefully to shut her up.

As soon as she felt the pressure, Quinn roughly pushed Lauren's hand off her. Her face was as passive to Lauren's rage as Rachel had ever seen it.

Sensing danger, Rachel leapt into the fray, pushing her way between the two girls. "Why don't we breathe out all of the negativity?" she suggested. "In on one."

Rachel inhaled deeply, eyes closed when her sweater was fisted at the scruff of the neck and she was lifted off the ground. They snapped open and she screamed in terror when Lauren began walking away with her.

When the remaining members of the Glee Club sprung into action to free their star, Quinn went unnoticed and disappeared upstairs with a bottle of vodka.

/

An hour later, disappointed with Quinn's abrupt departure, Rachel was sitting on the edge of the stage with Kurt and Mercedes, half paying attention to the alcohol-induced drivel leaving their lips.

The party had picked up and she was tired of the numerous calls for another round of shots, politely declining all of them. None of her teammates looked like they'd be in any state to help her clean up in the morning, so she decided to stay sober and have the place back to normal before her parents returned from visiting her grandparents.

She chose not to react when Kurt fell into her shoulder, laughing in the way that eventually got tiresome to hear unless you were in the same state.

Brittany and Santana descended the stairs hand in hand after being missing for some thirty odd minutes. Rachel grimaced, hoping they didn't use her bedroom for anything. That would be unacceptable.

"Your couch is totally comfortable, Rach," Brittany commented on the way past.

Great.

Kurt stumbled in his attempt to get to his feet, and Rachel's white sweater didn't stay white for very long. Her jaw slackened when, starting from the left shoulder, a large red stain began to seep down her side and spread.

"Kurt!" Rachel squealed in a huff. "Look what you've done!"

"The world a favour?" he guessed under his breath.

In true diva fashion, Rachel flounced from the basement and slammed the door shut behind her. The Berry household was quiet as she walked upstairs rubbing at the stain on her sweater. She burst into her bedroom in search of another appropriate item of clothing.

She was stopped from pulling her sweater over her head by the sight of Quinn Fabray lying down on her bed.

The corner of her mouth lifted in surprise. "Quinn?"

It was more surreal than her dream of finding Patrick Wilson in her bed.

Looking to be asleep or at least wishing to be, Rachel's voice lowered to just above a whisper to avoid disturbing her too much. "Kurt is such a klutz," she mused aloud. "I just have to change."

With an unnecessary explanation out of the way, Rachel opened her closet and changed her top behind the cover of one of the doors. "Are you feeling better?" she asked politely. "Lauren can be, well... I think terrifying is the appropriate term. It was nice of you to step in," Rachel thanked softly, as an afterthought. "I guess dealing with Ms. Sylvester on a daily basis makes Lauren seem a little less scary."

Rachel closed the door and turned back to Quinn. She was in a tank top now.

"Quinn, are you asleep?"

It was possible she was, expected, even, but something about the silence didn't sit right with her. Rachel tried again, this time walking over to Quinn and sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. She was sleeping on the side of the bed that was never slept on. That act alone should have been enough for the blonde to open her eyes or tell Rachel to get away from her, possibly both.

For someone as socially inept as Rachel Berry, leaning in close to Quinn's ear was a perfectly acceptable action. "Are you in a deep sleep?"

She frowned when there was still no reaction. Worry etched into her face, Rachel gingerly reached out to rub the blonde's arm. "It's time to wake up." Her voice shook this time. "One might say it's rude to ignore someone in their own house."

Rachel saw the empty bottle of vodka on the floor next to the bed, and that's when the panic truly set in. It felt like a bucket of cold water was being poured down her back. She knew how easily Quinn was inebriated and the amount she'd drank before what was left in the bottle was dangerous in itself.

Rachel shook Quinn, tears springing to her eyes involuntarily as she frantically tried to rouse her. "Quinn. Quinn, get up." She moved to the other side of her, pulling her closer to her own body.

Her skin wasn't cold or clammy to the touch. In fact, it was slightly overheated and soft. Rachel held her face, slapping her without recalling the few times she'd daydreamed of retaliating to one of the other girl's particularly mean jibes in school. This was different.

Kurt walked into Rachel's bedroom without the sense to knock first. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I didn't mean to-" He saw Quinn in her arms. "And what's going on here?"

"Shhh!" she ordered with her fingers on a slender wrist. She was trying to count the beats per minute.

Kurt smirked. "Since when are you two bed-buddies?"

"Kurt, please!"

"Shut up."

It was quiet. Rachel barely heard it over the thumping of her own heart, but Quinn had spoken. She looked down to her and dropped her hand, moving it to brush the hair away from her face. "Quinn?"

Quinn frowned softly. She didn't know she was being held or the state of panic she'd sent Rachel in. She just knew it was too loud and she wanted to sleep. "Be quiet," she said again. It wasn't clear or loud, but it got the message across.

Rachel's mouth hung open in shock and Kurt watched her tear-stricken face pale even further. She moved away from Quinn slowly, setting her back down on the bed. Her hands shook when she neared him and Kurt reached for one of them.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Stay with her," she asked of him. "Make sure she lies on her side. I'll get some water."

He frowned at her, concerned. "She's just drunk," he smiled in reassurance. "Did she vomit? I can't stay if there's vomit." Rachel shook her head again and Kurt laid his hand against her shoulder. She looked dazed, almost. "Earth to Rachel," he said. "Are you okay? Is it the sweater? I'll replace it if it means that much to you."

Rachel's eyes strayed from his to Quinn's still form on her bed. "Just...stay with her."

When the bathroom door clicked shut, Rachel leaned against it and covered her face with her hands to muffle the sound of her cries.

/

Quinn spent the night at Rachel's, waking late the next morning to the worst headache she'd ever been unfortunate enough to experience, with the added bonus of a head-spinning nausea made worse by trying to sit up.

Kurt was sitting up in bed next to her, sunglasses over his eyes as Rachel had been particularly unkind as to open the window and blinds to her bedroom, sunlight streaming through.

Quinn whimpered. "Tell me we didn't."

He managed a light chuckle. "Don't worry, I don't turn straight with alcohol."

"My head...is going to split open," she said slowly, squinting against the sun. "Where are we?"

"We are in Rachel Berry's bed; a sentence I never thought I'd hear myself say."

Quinn held her head. "Oh my god."

Her body ached everywhere, memories of being hunched over the toilet came filtering through. She remembered her hair being held back and soft hands on her forehead and then her cheeks. Quinn mentally berated herself when she remembered sobbing on someone's shoulder while in a collapsed heap on the bathroom floor.

Kurt winced at the banging around downstairs. Rachel was still lacking sympathy. "You wouldn't know it, but I think Hurricane Rachel has been up all night."

Quinn felt a pang of remorse. "I suppose I didn't help," she said with her eyes safely closed against the sunlight. "Thank you for taking care of me." It was difficult to say but if the pain in her head was anything to go by, Quinn wouldn't make it through the day anyway. It was only polite to thank him for putting up with her.

"Oh, you give me too much credit."

"What?"

"Sweetie, I was asleep next to you before Rachel came back with the water," Kurt said. "I'm sorry but this bed was like a cloud. I can only resist so much temptation now that I'm surrounded by cute boys in blazers every day."

Quinn frowned. It hurt her head. "But you were with me during the night? We must have shared the bathroom..."

"I wasn't raised to have an audience when I vomit. Besides, anyone else's and... no. Not a chance."

"Oh, no."

Quinn's dread was nothing compared to what was coming.

The bedroom door flung open and Rachel barged in with the vacuum.

"Make it stop!" Kurt said with his hands covering his ears.

Quinn retreated underneath the covers and turned over, face buried in the pillow. It smelled like Rachel.

"Oh, you're up!" Rachel shouted over the vacuum. She sped it around the room, making sure to slam it against her bed at least three times and go over the same patch of carpet each side of her bed more times than strictly necessary.

"I hate you," Kurt whined when it had been switched off.

"What?"

She was shouting on purpose. Quinn groaned.

Rachel looked down to her form under the covers. "Get up," she ordered.

Kurt's face fell even further. "I don't know how."

She sighed. "Kurt, I would like to clean my bedroom, so please get out of my bed." Her icy stare fixed back on Quinn. "You too."

She was in so much pain, but her stomach wasn't turning as much when all she could smell was Rachel's pillow. The girl might be unbearable but she'd never noticed how she smelled...nice.

"I can't," Quinn admitted defeat.

"Then, please, let me help you."

Rachel ripped the duvet off them both and proceeded to take the outer cover off, ignoring the protests from the occupants of her bed. She threw the duvet to the bottom of the bed when she was finished, making a pile of laundry out of the cover. Quinn's top had ridden up her back and she was doing nothing to cover it. It was like she couldn't move her body at will.

"You are so annoying," Quinn mumbled.

"Please get out of my bed," Rachel huffed. "I won't ask again. Next time it will be water."

Kurt smiled against the pain. "I haven't been threatened with water since my mom..."

"Is that what you want, Quinn? Do you want me to get a pan of water and throw it all over you? Don't think I won't."

Her arms shook as she pushed herself up. She held a hand over her mouth as her stomach twisted. Sitting cross-legged, she opened her eyes to look at Rachel and the intended glare came out as confusion.

Rachel pressed a hand against her chest. "Am I speaking too fast for you?"

"More like too much," Quinn replied as the pillow was pulled out from behind her, the case being thrown to the laundry pile at the brunette's feet. The same was done to Kurt's.

Rachel's threats had been empty. She would never waste water that way. Instead, she leaned over Quinn and wrenched the sheet up from the top of the mattress, pulling it down until it wouldn't budge.

"Lift up," she ordered.

Quinn sighed, lifting her body up so that Rachel could pull the sheet from under her. It hadn't gone as smoothly as she'd wished. For one thing, Rachel's arms were practically around her body when she reached for the other side, her head almost on her shoulder. Eventually she was sitting on nothing but the mattress and listened to Kurt's complaining prior to him finally getting up out of the bed.

"You can start breakfast," Rachel said to him. "I went to the store this morning and paid a nine-year-old to buy some bacon. He returned the goods but ran off with my change." She looked to Quinn and her voice was flat. "You can use the shower first. There are clean towels and a new toothbrush in there. Use whatever you want."

Quinn nodded. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"You can use it when you've had breakfast, Kurt. Or if you'd rather wait until you get home... that's fine, too. Whatever."

"Thanks, Rachel," he said.

As he left, Quinn's eyes were fixed on Rachel. She'd never seen Rachel on a Saturday morning before unless she, Santana and Brittany happened to see her at the mall but that wasn't very often and it was nothing like this. Rachel never looked at her this way before, like she was furious and, more than that, hurt. It wasn't the way she looked at her at school when she'd laughed along with everyone else when Rachel was publically humiliated. It was deeper, more intense.

Quinn didn't get a chance to speak before Rachel gathered up the laundry and left without another word.

/

It was off-putting to eat breakfast in front of Rachel when she sat with her hand covering her nose the entire time, every window in the kitchen and living room wide open. Kurt asked her to leave if she couldn't stomach the smell, but Rachel refused.

She watched Kurt and Quinn eat breakfast slower than she thought humanly possible, and then Kurt left, deciding to shower at home but thanked Rachel for everything she'd done.

That left Quinn alone with her.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Rachel asked out of nowhere. Her voice hadn't been exceptionally kind.

"That's all right," Quinn declined politely.

"Fine. See you on Monday." Then Rachel left to finish cleaning the basement without showing her out.

/

Quinn had spent the rest of the day at home in bed. She had been called late Sunday morning to hang out with Brittany and Santana, but half of the time their attention was solely on each other, forgetting Quinn was next to them as they made out during the movie.

A day at school was enough to drag her back into a funk.

She skipped Glee.

Looking down to the football field from her spot at the top of the bleachers, Quinn was searching for the exact moment it had gone wrong, where she should have noticed how off-course her choices were taking her. It would have been easy to say at Puck's party that night, but it wasn't. She knew it was long before that.

Puck asked her how she was doing at lunch and it took a lot of self-control not to storm away from him. She couldn't stand to look him in the eyes or have him care about her.

Quinn saw Rachel approaching wearing a hat too big for her. It took her a while to climb to the top.

Quinn sniffed. She'd been crying.

"Hi," Rachel greeted softly, sitting beside her. "You missed Glee."

"I know."

"How's your hangover?"

"Gone." It hadn't gone completely, but she didn't want her to know that.

"Good." Rachel's hands were neatly folded in her lap. "I'm sorry if I was crass the other day."

"It's fine."

"Why were you in my room? Not that I minded you in there, I just...why?"

"Brittany and Santana fell on the couch and started stripping. I couldn't stay there."

"Why were you drinking like that?"

Quinn sighed. "Rachel."

"No, I'm serious." Her voice had lost some of its gentle tone. "You were crazy. You upset everyone and then you just left. I didn't know where you were."

"Yeah, well, you're crazy," Quinn retorted childishly. "But I don't get on you about it every single time."

Rachel looked up to her, a heavy sensation wrapping itself around her chest. "You really scared me. I thought you were... that something was wrong."

"I had too much to drink, okay? That's it. Everything from that night was a result of alcohol."

She remembered Quinn crying against her shoulder, gripping her arm painfully when she begged her to make it stop, to make her forget.

"You were on my bed, Quinn. Unresponsive."

"You exaggerate everything."

"Not that. I didn't exaggerate the way you weren't moving, or the way you didn't even flinch when I slapped your face."

"You hit me?" Hazel eyes went wide.

"I thought something was wrong!" Rachel repeated. "I was scared."

"I'm fine," Quinn mumbled.

"Are you?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"You shouldn't have been drinking like that. It's dangerous."

"Are you just here to lecture me? If so, thanks but no thanks."

Rachel shook her head in disbelief. "You don't have to do this, Quinn. I'm trying to help."

"I really wish you wouldn't." She frowned looking down to her and a thought occurred to her. She couldn't look her in the eyes. "Did you tell— does anyone else know about the other night?"

"Of course not. I-I wouldn't do that."

Quinn looked down miserably. It was coming back in waves; all the pain she felt, all the frustration of circumstances she didn't have the strength to change. It was bubbling up inside. She closed her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge it in front of anyone else. "Go."

"What?"

"Go," she said again. "Please. I want to be alone."

Conflicted, Rachel didn't move right away. Her hand gingerly reached out to touch Quinn's shoulder, falling away at the last second. She remembered Noah's description of a crying Quinn and didn't think it was a good idea to make her angry, so she reluctantly did as she asked.

Rachel stood up and was one step away from Quinn when her right hand was grabbed. She turned and looked down to Quinn whose head was still low, refusing to look at her. When Rachel reclaimed the spot next to her, Quinn applied more pressure to her hand, gripping it tightly until the tips of her fingers were white.

Rachel didn't say a word; she merely sat there and held her hand, and would do so for as long as she wanted.

Eventually, after a few minutes, Quinn spoke up. "I don't know what to do," she confessed.

"With what?"

"Everything."

"It's okay," Rachel said. "You'll figure it out."

"But I won't. I won't." She tightened her jaw, frowning against the tears dripping down her face. "They're not going to forgive me, and I can't exactly blame them."

"Who?"

"Puck...her."

"You mean Beth?" Rachel asked, hearing the breath catch in Quinn's throat at the mention of her daughter. "Quinn, trust me, as someone who has been there... she's going to forgive you. I won't lie and say it's something that won't take a lot of time, but it's not impossible. She just has to understand first."

"How is she going to understand when I'm not there to explain it?"

"How do you know you won't be?" Rachel's hand was being held with less pressure now. "My mom was here, at this school. I sang with her... It still doesn't seem real, but it was. I know because I asked Brad to confirm." She digressed. "My point is: you don't know what's going to happen in the future. She doesn't know any different yet. Her adoptive parents are her parents."

"Do you think we did the right thing?"

"I can't answer that for you."

Quinn hadn't expected a different answer. "Do you think she'll forget about me?"

"You're her mother, Quinn. She'll remember you forever."

"Nobody remembers her. Just you, Puck and my mom." It was like a stab to the chest to say out loud.

"They remembered," Rachel revealed. "It was all everyone was talking about at Glee today. They felt awful. They're planning on surprising you with a song tomorrow. I'm not supposed to tell you about it."

Quinn wiped her face dry with her free hand, disinclined to let go of Rachel's. She didn't understand why when, ninety percent of the time, she couldn't be around her without quelling the desire to roll her eyes.

"I've been awful to Puck."

Rachel shrugged. "He understands."

"He shouldn't have to."

"You could talk to him," Rachel said. "I'm sure he would like that."

Quinn mulled it over, her face twisted with tension. "Maybe." She looked up to the pale blue sky. "I've hurt so many people, and I keep doing it. I make the same mistakes over and over again."

"You can stop."

"I don't know how." She was grateful Rachel wasn't talking a mile a minute. It made it easier to think. "I need it back; the way the popularity and status used to make me feel. I can't feel like this anymore. It hurts too much."

In a bold move, Rachel tightened her hold of the other girl's hand. It would be suicide for a hug. "You don't have to step all over people to feel good, and you don't have to hurt yourself either. You deserve to be happy." Quinn laughed derisively at that. "I don't know, I think maybe you should forget everyone else and see how being Quinn Fabray makes you feel. I don't think you have to work so hard for everyone else's approval, it's not like you need it."  
Quinn contemplated it. "Yeah..."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and Quinn pulled her hand back to rub her face and brush her hair back from her face.

"Why are you wearing that?" she asked, looking to her hat.

Rachel touched a hand to her head self-consciously. "Bad hair day. Admittedly, I don't use as much product as some but I find it reacts badly to corn syrup at any time of the day."

"Oh." Quinn felt worse for asking. "Karofsky?"

"Azimio."

She filed that away. "You do use a lot of product," she challenged.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. I can think of plenty of times you've nearly choked me with hairspray in the restroom."

Rachel laughed sheepishly, leaning away from her. "Okay, maybe sometimes I do. I'm sorry!"

"Why were you and Brad talking about baked goods?" Quinn asked. "Isn't that weird?"

"He was trying to make me feel better."

"About what?"

"It's not important. Trust me; those cookies will make you forget a world of pain."

"I want to know."

Rachel sighed. "I was... I was filming a music video for my personal portfolio after school," she shared. "Well within the realms of norm, Daddy says. I make one personal video per month to observe my techniques and stuff, and it turned out I picked the wrong afternoon because Dave slushied me when I was at the peak of the chorus." Rachel picked at her knee-high socks. "It ruined the camera, and the song, obviously. I was in the choir room a little while later and Brad came in for some sheet music he'd forgotten. He saw me practicing my moved reaction for when I win my first Tony Award."

"You were crying?"

She shrugged, smiling. "Quinn, you don't understand, those cookies will change your life."

Quinn knocked her shoulder against Rachel's. "I just got rid of the baby weight and you're trying to tempt me with cookies." She smiled. "You really are the devil, aren't you?"

"I've always thought you have the perfect body shape out of every girl at this school. You're unrivalled when it comes to beauty, Quinn," Rachel said easily, like it was obvious. "And it's funny you say that considering Lauren, Mercedes _and_ Santana said I was, and I quote, the cookie god, an angel from above and kissable earlier this afternoon."

Quinn arched an eyebrow, her response delayed due to the compliment of her body that had left her face feeling warm. She strongly disagreed. "Santana said that to you?"

"I left the box on the piano with an anonymous note of 'eat me' and watched as everyone tore into it like rabid animals with their prey. Santana's satisfaction was verbal, along with her desire to french the baker, even if he or she were eighty."

Quinn shook her head. She felt better for talking, that for even just a few minutes she wasn't being pulled down with the weight of her concerns though they were still there. Self-doubt wasn't an easy thing to be rid of, no matter how much it was yearned for. She guessed talking about it was a start.

"Karofsky made a pass at Santana the other month," Quinn recalled the story, "She made out with him at a party and he got...excited really quickly." She grinned when Rachel had the beginning of an impish smile to go with the curious shimmer of her eyes. "They were against the wall in the living room and his hands were grabby when she told him to stop, so she unzipped his pants and pulled them, along with his boxers, down to his ankles. Everyone saw, and I mean everyone," she finished to the sound of Rachel's rich laughter.

"Oh, my god! Was he- I mean, is it-"

"Tiny," she confirmed, shaking her head.

Rachel laughed again. "What happened?"

"He barely had chance to button himself back up before Mike and then Puck punched him." Rachel gasped at that, and Quinn's hand settled on top of hers. "That's not even the best part!" she continued animatedly. "Karofsky made a swing for him and Lauren tackled him, totally took him down. I thought she was going to break his arm, or at least pull it from the socket."

"Lauren is a very talented wrestler."

Quinn pressed her lips together. "The next time Karofsky or Azimio are jerks and you feel like practicing your reaction for your first Tony Award, remember that they get humiliated too." She hesitated. "And if _I'm_ a bitch, you can think of my meltdown or spewing my guts in your bathroom."

"And there's always those cookies..."

"You're making me hungry," Quinn pouted.

"I can make you your own batch." Rachel perked up. "Yeah. A-as a thank you."

"For being a bitch?"

"It's not very often someone has the patience to sit down and talk with me," Rachel said, a little self-depreciatingly. "It's been...nice," she admitted shyly, pulling her shoulders up in a casual shrug. "Even if you feel like you have to act like it never happened. I'll understand."

At that, Quinn had the good sense to look ashamed. She wasn't surprised at the brunette's horribly low expectations about further developments in her attitude, after all she'd never given her reason to think any differently, but it didn't sit right with her. Rachel made herself sound very lonely.

"As a thank you for taking care of me when I was gross and sick, maybe I could make the cookies with you?" Quinn said. "And as an apology for being a bitch I could eat half of them with you in case you think I'm only being nice to make you gain weight."

Brown eyes lit up. "Really?"

"I'm free on Wednesday night."

"That would be nice," Rachel agreed. "I have to warn you, I'm a vocal baker."

"You're vocal with everything," Quinn smiled, and then blushed.

"Extremely loud is my way."

Oblivious too, apparently.

An easy silence washed over them as Rachel took in the view of the football field, enjoying the presence of Quinn next to her without the added worry of any spiteful comments. Then, with the blink of an eye, the green of the football field was replaced with the inside of her hat being pulled over her eyes.

She pushed it back up and only had to catch a glimpse of Quinn's playful smile before she wore one too.


End file.
